


The Joke's On You

by SParkie96



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Kidnapping, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2018-04-29 16:44:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5135069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SParkie96/pseuds/SParkie96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, things don’t always go according to plan. Theo Galavan is about to learn that lesson the hard way. Poor Bruce Wayne is caught in the middle of it. Takes place during Season 2 Episode 3: “The Last Laugh”. Rated T-M for language, suggestive themes and violence as well as Character Death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hostage

Bruce grunted as Jerome ripped the eleven year-old away from his guardian, the older male’s arm wound tight around the raven-haired boy’s waist. The boy gave a silent victory cheer as Alfred was able to retrieve the gun Detective Gordon had given him from Bruce’s jacket pocket. His cheer was cut off as another pained sound escaped the younger as Jerome hoisted him up and on to the stage, the older boy’s arm squeezing him tightly in order to maintain a grip on him. Jerome demanded that someone check behind the curtain in the back for any uninvited guests.

A voice in Bruce’s head dared the henchman to go investigate, hoping that Gordon would shoot the guy once he was close enough. Sure enough, gun shots rang through the air as Gordon emerged out from behind the curtain. He shot at any nearby bad guys, incapacitating them instantly. Alfred punched the henchman holding him before pulling out his own weapon. He shot at a couple of thugs as well. The crowd released panicked screams as they tried to duck for cover.

Bruce felt joy wash over him as he watched his guardian and Gordon take out the bad guys and clearing the room. His joy was cut short when Jerome released a crazed laugh and pressed the knife closer to Bruce’s throat. Gordon and Alfred had their guns trained on Jerome, but they did not shoot, for fear of accidentally shooting Bruce.

“I don’t have a clean shot!” Gordon hollered over to Alfred.

Alfred only told Bruce to stay calm, but the look on his face indicated that he did not have a clean shot either and was more concerned with getting Master Bruce away from the teenage psychopath.

Bruce could feel Jerome’s breath close to his ear, lips brushing his earlobe as he spoke, “Looks like we got ourselves a pickle. What do you say, Brucie-boy? Want to boost our ratings?” Jerome chuckled, pressing the blade against the younger’s throat, blood trickling out through the small cut.

“I said, enough.” A voice called.

Jerome released an annoyed groan and turned to look toward the source of the sound, causing Bruce to do the same. Theo Galavan stood in front of Jerome, posture straight and courageous. There was a silver blade in his hand, ready to stab Jerome.

Until a bullet pierced his shoulder, causing him to drop the knife and cradle his wounded arm as he let out a pained shout. He grunted as he looked over at the person who shot him. Barbara let out an insane giggle before giving Theo an “Oops!” Jerome released his own cackle as well, causing Theo to look over at him incredulously.

“Whoops! Looks like my hench-wench thinks we should be shooting for another direction for this Magic Show. Either that or she wanted to make the bullets in the gun magically disappear. HAHAHA!” Jerome cackled.

Bruce watched in confusion. What were they talking about? He helplessly looked over to Gordon and Alfred, who looked just as confused as him. Theo let out a scream as Barbara shot the billionaire in the back of the knee, causing him to fall to the floor in pain.

“I-I freed you! I freed you all! We were going to take over Gotham!” Theo hollered as Barbara and Jerome stood over the other, Bruce still in the red-head’s grasp. Barbara held the gun level with Theo’s head.

“Didn’t we tell you, Theo-baby? The inmates are running the asylum now.” Jerome asked.

Barbara pulled the trigger, “Bang.” She said, decorating the stage with Theo’s brains.

“Barbara! Jerome! Freeze!” Gordon hollered.

“Oh, Jimbo! Always trying to take charge. Did you forget already?” Jerome asked, as Barbara pressed the gun to Bruce’s head causing the young boy to release a gasp.

“No!” Alfred hollered, ready to shoot Barbara, but Jim waved him off.

“Let the boy go, Jerome.” Gordon demanded.

Jerome released a cackle as the gun was handed off to him. He held it level to Bruce’s head, “How about this? You let us go, and I don’t add Brucie-boy’s brains to the mess on the floor.” He said, dragging Bruce backward towards the exit, Barbara close behind.

Before they could leave, Alfred managed to get a shot off, but it struck Barbara in the right breast. She let out a scream and fell to the floor. She looked to Jerome for help, but he just shrugged, giving her a “Sorry Toots! The show must go on!” He then threw Bruce over his shoulder as he made his way to the disappearance booth. The hand not holding Bruce waved at the crowd. Bruce hollered for Alfred before the curtain came down on both himself and Jerome. Alfred and Jim ran toward the stage, ripping down the curtain.

Only to see that Jerome and Bruce had disappeared.

* * *

“Let me go! Alfred!” Bruce yelled, kicking and thrashing around in Jerome’s arms.

After slipping through the trap door in the stage, Jerome had carried Bruce through the underground tunnels and out the back door to the van waiting for them in the alley. Just as the younger male was about to release another screech for help, Jerome covered his mouth with his own tie. He then tossed the boy inside of the van before getting into it, jumping on top of the other before he could make a break for it.

Bruce released a pain-filled grunt as the older boy jumped on top of him. He went to hit Jerome with a quick jab, but the red-head was quicker as he caught Bruce’s wrist with ease. Bruce tried again, only for Jerome to capture his other wrist as well. Jerome leaned down closer to the younger, taunting the poor boy. A low growl was the only warning the former Carnie received before Bruce collided his skull with Jerome’s.

Jerome cradled his skull as he pulled away from the other. Bruce took this as his opening, getting off of the floor and tried to make his escape. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t see the two thugs sitting in the van with him. By the time he realized they were there, they were on him like dogs. Both held the boy by his arms, leaving him to thrash around in their grip.

By now, Jerome had recovered from the blow and was laughing once more, “Oh, what did you do that for, Bruce? I thought we were having so much fun!” Jerome said with mock hurt in his voice. He made a head notion towards one of the thugs, causing one to grab a handful of Bruce’s hair, forcing the raven’s head back at a painful angle. A knife was pressed to his throat once more.

“Though I have to say, pull that shtick again…well; let’s just say that I’ll have to carve a big ol’ smile across that pretty little face of yours.” Jerome said, releasing another laugh.

Bruce didn’t reply, glaring as he watched the older male’s movements. On the inside, he silently prayed that Jerome’s hand didn’t “accidentally” slip and slit his throat. With a crazed look, Jerome pounded on the divider between the back of the van the driver’s seat.

“What are you waiting for? A bus?! Let’s get a move on, Razor ol’ boy! We got places to go and people to torment!” Jerome commanded.

“But Boss! There are cops everywhere…” the thug in the passenger seat informed.

Without another word, Jerome shot a bullet through the small window, instantly killing the protesting thug. Jerome turned his attention back to the thug in the driver’s seat, wearing a crazed smile, “Razor…?”

“Y-Yes, Boss.” A voice called back as the engine started up.

Jerome turned his attention back to his Billion Dollar Hostage, rolling his eyes dramatically, “And here I thought a couple million dollars would have bought me some good help. Oh well, guess they don’t make good goons like they used to.” He said, caressing Bruce’s cheek with the knife, causing the other to wince away from the other. Jerome let out another laugh as the van headed back to the Galavan penthouse.

 


	2. Escape

Alfred sat at one of the now empty tables, holding his head in his hands. How could he let this happen? He was supposed to care for the last remaining Wayne. He swore to the boy’s parents that he would always protect the boy no matter what happened. And now, some madman had just taken Bruce to who-knows-where.

Gordon rushed back into the room, causing Alfred to rise at attention. He asked the detective if they found any evidence. Jim shook his head, telling the butler that they have not found anything just yet, but they currently had Barbara in custody and would question her about Jerome and Bruce’s whereabouts when he got back to the GCPD. Jim then reassured the older male that they were going to find Bruce. He promised the butler that they were going to get him back, no matter what it took.

Alfred nodded, but did not feel reassured, “I want to go with you. I want to talk to that crazy witch.” He said.

Jim sighed, “Alfred, I can’t let you talk to her. There’s no telling what she…”

“You don’t understand. I made a promise to that boy’s parents that I would take care of him and protect him. I want to know where that bastard child took him.” Alfred demanded.

Though he wanted to refuse the others demands, he knew the butler hold firm on his demands. With another sigh, Jim walked over to check on Lee. They embraced each other and exchanged a kiss, glad that they were okay. Leslie pulled away from Jim, asking the detective how Alfred was holding up. Jim informed her that Barbara was not about to be an issue for them anymore if Alfred got a hold of her.

Lee could not help but let out a chuckle which earned her a look from Jim. She quickly apologized right after, that that was inappropriate of her. Secretly, she hoped Alfred would not take it easy on Barbara. That madwoman had had a hand in so much madness and chaos that resulted in countless deaths as well as an innocent boy being kidnapped. Though she did not wish harm on to the other, she just hoped that they would be able to get enough information out of Barbara so that the GCPD could find Bruce before it was too late.

* * *

“Honey! I’m home!” Jerome called out to no one in particular.

After a painstakingly long ride, they had arrived at the Galavan Penthouse. Tabitha had opened the door, wondering where Barbara and her brother were and why Jerome had taken Bruce Wayne. Her answer was a bullet through the skull, leaving her dead body lying in the main lobby. Jerome told the door man to take her out with the rest of the trash or else he would be joining her. The door man nodded as he tended to the mess.

Bruce was horrified. Jerome had just murdered a woman without much a second thought. The red-head had just shot her in the head and was on his merry way like he did not just kill an innocent woman and left her for someone else to clean up. Jerome motioned for the henchmen to follow, forcing Bruce to be dragged along.

“Just set Brucie-Boy over there on the couch and then head on out. Brucie’s not going anywhere anytime soon, right buddy?” Jerome commanded.

With a nod, Razor and Butch roughly shoved the young Billionaire on to the couch before leaving the room, leaving Bruce alone with Jerome. Bruce looked between Jerome and the exit, frozen on the spot. He didn’t know what came over him, but Bruce made a break for the door. Jerome let out a laugh as he tackled the younger, dropping the gun in the process.

“Where do you think you’re going, Brucie? The fun’s just begun!” Jerome said, flipping Bruce over so he was lying on his back.

Bruce grunted as he struggled to get free. He thrashed underneath of Jerome as they exchanged blows. Somehow, Bruce was able to flip it around so he was on top of Jerome. With enough force, Bruce began to repeatedly punch Jerome in the head and chest until he was convinced that the other was unconscious. Once he was sure, Bruce ran to the door and twisted the knobs furiously. The damn henchmen locked the doors.

With a frustrated cry, Bruce ran to the windows, only to discover that they were locked as well. He looked over at the balcony doors, giving the handle an experimental twist. He released a breath as he realized that they were the only things not locked. With a deep breath, Bruce rushed out of them and looked around. Okay, so it was a hundred to two hundred foot drop below him, no big deal. There was a fire escape not too far away, if he shimmied across the ledge, he could use the fire escape and get to the GCPD.

With another deep breath, Bruce climbed on to the railing and on to the ledge. He braced himself against the wall, looking down at the street and on top of the buildings for any nearby henchmen, or maybe Gotham Police Officers. Meanwhile, he shimmied over to the fire escape, mentally reminding himself that it was okay, just like climbing and scaling the walls at Wayne Manor. No big deal.

* * *

Gordon and Bullock stood just outside of Oswald’s, wondering why the hell Jerome would take Bruce here. Alfred sat in the Police Car with a bottle of water in hand. He still was not convinced that that crazy broad Barbara was telling the truth. Why would that crazy bastard take Bruce here? What would he gain from this? The butler looked over to Gordon, who motioned that he should follow them inside. Alfred took a deep breath and got out of the car, following the detectives inside.

When they got inside Oswald’s men stood at the front. Butch greeted the detectives, but then denied them entry when they asked to see Oswald. This angered Alfred, who demanded that they be allowed to speak to Oswald. Butch placed his hand on Alfred’s shoulder, telling them all that they were not allowed inside. Before Gordon could reason with Butch, Alfred twisted Butch’s arm behind his arm and shoved him up against the wall.

“We would like to see Mr. Cobblepot now, Mr. Gilzean.” Alfred said through grit teeth.

Butch nodded rapidly, “S-Sure thing! Go right in!” he said. Satisfied with that response, Alfred released the bodyguard, who led them inside.

Bullock gave an amused nod, “I like him. We should get him a badge.” Gordon just chuckled in response.

* * *

Bruce gave a shaky breath as he held on to the wall the best he could. He was almost to the fire escape, just a few more steps. He looked through the window behind him as best as he could. Good, there were no henchmen there to catch him. He felt like nothing could stop him and that he was home free.

There was a GCPD car outside of the coffee shop not too far away, the officers standing outside of the car. They were munching on doughnuts and drinking coffee. They seemed to be talking about something important, scanning over flyers and papers. Bruce felt a wave of relief as a smile spread on his lips. He called out to the officers, waving a hand to get their attention.

“HEY! Up here!” Bruce hollered.

From where he was standing, he could see the officers looking around, trying to figure out who was yelling. Bruce’s spirit was lifted as he continued to call out for help, hand waving more vigorously.

“Over here! Hey!” Bruce called.

Just as the cops were about to look toward his direction, a gunshot rang through the air as a sharp shooting pain shot up through Bruce’s left leg. The boy released a scream of pain. He tried to transfer his weight on to his right leg, but ended up falling over the edge. This time he let out a surprised yelp as he quickly grabbed the edge of the ledge, holding on for dear life. His breath was caught in his throat as he struggled to hold on. A whimper escaped his lips as his wounded leg dangled below him, the weight of it pulling on his wound. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on.

The window above opened as someone crawled out on to the ledge. The always smiling face of Jerome looked down at him, making tsking noises, “Hey, Bruce! How’s it hanging?”

Bruce just glared at the older. Jerome just rolled his eyes and scolded the younger before grabbing both of Bruce’s arms and pulling him up on to the ledge. Bruce wanted to fight like hell, but considering he was sitting on the ledge over a two hundred something foot drop, he was not going to risk it. Once he was inside the window, Bruce let out another cry to the cops, only to be interrupted by Jerome’s hand clamping down on his mouth.

“Bruce! We’re trying to hide from the GCPD, remember?” Jerome asked.

Bruce released a muffled noise as he shook his head. He tried to head-butt Jerome in the jaw, but the action failed as Jerome jerked his head back at the same time, “Ah, ah, ah! That trick only works once, Richie-Rich.” Jerome said.

The younger was about to give the other another growl, until Jerome’s leg nudged into Bruce’s bad leg, causing a whimper to escape the younger boy’s lips. The carnie gave a “whoops” apologizing, saying that he forgot that he shot Bruce in the back of the knee and that he would find a nice doctor to come and look at that for him. He carried the boy back into the living room and sat him down on the couch.

“That’s what happened? You shot me?!” Bruce asked, after Jerome released his mouth.

“Isn’t that what I just said?” Jerome asked ripping off the younger’s pants, causing Bruce to yelp.

“What…what are you doing?!” Bruce protested, trying to keep his pants.

“Well, duh! I have to wrap your leg. I can’t have you bleeding all over the nice clean floor. Geez, Brucie-babe, I didn’t know you were deaf and dumb.” Jerome said, as he retrieved some bandages from the First-Aid kit from the bathroom.

While Jerome went to get the kit, Bruce looked down at his knee and nearly cringed at the sight of it. It was definitely bloody and hurt like hell, that’s for sure. It kind of looked…odd. The bloody hole in his leg looked really disturbing and kind of made him feel a bit queasy on the inside. The way the blood oozed out reminded him of the night his parents died. The bullet hole in his father’s chest, the one above his mother’s collar bone, a broken pearl necklace lay in scattered beads all over the pavement, the blood…so much blood.

It wasn’t until Jerome came back did Bruce realize he was hyperventilating. Jerome stared down at the younger, brow raised. Why was the Billion Dollar Brat having a panic attack in the middle of the floor? Wasn’t he just on the couch? The red-head let out a huff, kneeling down and patting the other on the cheek,

“Brucie! Yoo-hoo! Is anyone home? Bruce! C’mon kiddo, I really don’t need you passing out on me…” the red-head said jokingly. He received silence in return.

“…alright, get the hell up. C’mon.” Jerome said, rolling his eyes in annoyance as he hoisted the other up by his shoulders and settled him back down on to the couch.

The younger boy was still in his traumatic daze as Jerome fixed up his knee. It wasn’t until Jerome applied pressure to the wound did the pain tear Bruce out of his trance, causing the raven-haired boy to release a pained yelp. His instincts caused him to start beating his fists on the older boy’s arms, telling the other the he was hurting him and that he needed to let him go. His protests only made the carnie laugh.

“You’re such a baby, Brucie! What’s a matter? You’re acting as though you’ve never been shot before!” Jerome exclaimed as he finished wrapping Bruce’s leg.

“I haven’t been shot before! OW! Don’t press on it!” Bruce protested, scooting away from the other.

“But your parents were shot in an alley! Didn’t you get hit with a stray bullet or something? The guy didn’t at least try to get a shot off so you didn’t squeal?” Jerome asked in mock disbelief.

The younger’s eyes were wide in shock and disgust. Before Jerome could badger him for more information, Bruce punched him hard across the face. The blow sent Jerome tumbling to the floor. Bruce simply stared down at the other, anger and hatred in his eyes. Was this guy serious? What was he saying? Jerome was a full blown psychopath. He did time in Arkham for killing his mother!

“How. Dare you?! Don’t you ever insult my parents! Is everything a joke to you?” Bruce asked angrily.

Jerome chuckles turned into insane laughter once more as he pulled himself off of the floor. He grabbed both of Bruce’s wrists and shoved him hard into the couch causing Bruce’s heart to pound in his chest. Jerome looked into the younger’s blue eyes, still laughing psychotically.

“Oh, Bruce. Why. So. Serious?”

* * *

 


	3. I Am the Knight

Alfred sat stiffly in the passenger seat as Jim drove to the precinct. Though part of him wanted to pursue his young charge on his own, Gordon had been very persistent with the butler, advising him that it was better that he stick with the GCPD if they wanted to find Bruce alive. The Brit rolled his eyes, thinking just how well that had worked with finding the Waynes’ killer. He was better off on his own, but he supposed he stick with Gordon and Bullock. He could at least deal with the little bastard in a legal manner with the two detectives around.

“We’re here, Jeeves. You can get out now.” Bullock said, earning an offended look from the butler and an annoyed look from Jim.

“Harvey, really?” Jim asked.

“What?” Bullock asked.

“What do you mean “What”? Harvey, could you be a bit more considerate given the circumstances?”

Before Bullock could utter another word, Alfred got out of the vehicle and sized up the doughnut eating detective. He straightened out his dress coat before folding his hands behind his back. Bullock just watched him cautiously and uncertainly. Gordon stood behind the larger detective, ready to intervene should Alfred go after his partner.

“If I were not too preoccupied with finding young Master Bruce, I’d sock you in your ugly mug. Fortunately for you, you’re neither worth the time nor effort.” Alfred said in a semi-calm tone, walking ahead of them and into the GCPD building.

Both men just watched the older man leave, exchanging amused looks. Gordon shook his head and followed after. Bullock trudged behind him,

“I’d like to see the old man try.”

* * *

 

After what seemed like hours, Jerome left Bruce alone in one of the many guestrooms in the Galavan Mansion...or now “Jerome’s Funny Farm”. After the red-head had bandaged up the wound that **_he_** had caused, he kind of just dumped him in the room. He told Bruce that he would be back before warning him not to try and escape…or else the Waynes would have another resident in that big ol’manor in the sky. Without another word, Jerome left, leaving Bruce to his own devices.

Of course he wanted to attempt escape again, but the young boy was not quite sure of how to go about it without getting shot again. If Jerome was now in charge, the only way Bruce’s escape attempts would end with him being shot or physically beaten. Though part of him did not completely believe that theory. The red-head had some sort of…infatuation with him for some odd reason. At least, that was how it seemed. The elder kept touching him since his capture. Jerome caressed his thighs whilst bandaging him up, kept touching him afterward while feeding him food, and then even more while escorting him to his room. Though Bruce wanted to pass it off as the older male trying to be intimidating, part of him thought differently.

Before he could delve into his thoughts a little more, someone knocked on his door to the tune of the General Lee’s horn. A barely audible groan escaped Bruce, knowing just who was at the door.

“Brucey! You still here? I hope so if you’re not as dumb as you look.” Jerome called from behind the other side.

Bruce rolled his eyes in annoyance, calling out to allow the Carnie entry. The red-head kicked the door open, a silver tray of food in his hands and two big goons at his side. The raven-haired boy looked up at the goons with uncertainty. He tried to make himself seem confident, but he knew that Jerome and his new friends were not going to buy it. The re-head could practically smell fear.

“Glad to see you haven’t jumped the ledge again. I was afraid you were going to take a leap of faith out that there window. I thought I was going to come home to Brucey Street Pie. Hungry?” Jerome asked, placing the tray of food on the nearest counter.

Bruce shook his head, still unsure of the two newcomers. Why did Jerome bring goons with him? What did he want? If he was only going to feed him, he did not need to bring his goons with him. So, what was Jerome really up to?

“Aw, that nice lady in the kitchen spent the last two hours slaving over a hot stove making dinner for everyone. If she found out you did not want to eat it, surely she would lose her head!” Jerome exclaimed, lifting the lid off of the tray.

Bruce’s eyes went with shock, covering his mouth to prevent a scream of horror from escaping his lips. Sitting there staring back at him from the silver tray was the head of the maid who cooked the food. Her face was frozen in a look of seemingly horror, brown eyes wide with fright. Her mouth was twisted into a demented smile that spread from ear-to-ear. Her lips were as red as the blood that leaked from her severed neck. It looked as though someone had cut potatoes and broccoli and scattered them around the dead head like one would with a roast. Jerome’s laughter was deafening in Bruce’s ears.

“Oops! Looks like she already did!” Jerome cackled.

After his momentary shock, the raven finally found his voice, “Is…is this some type of sick joke to you?” Bruce asked.

“Why of course! Isn’t that what life itself is? One. Big. Joke?” Jerome asked, sitting down next to the other male.

Bruce did not know how to reply to that. After the death of his parents, that was what life felt like to him. He found himself constantly questioning his purpose in life. Though he had sworn on their grave that he would seek justice for his parents and defend the innocent, there were moments where he questioned his decisions. He often wondered what would happen after he found their killer. Would he join the police? Become some sort of liaison for orphans all over Gotham? Or become a quiet protector in the night and defend his city?

“See, you know I’m right. That’s why you’re being so quiet. Like I said, you and I are the same side of the same crazy coin; we’re both orphans, left alone to fend for ourselves in this harsh city. Though I killed my parents, but tomato, tomoto…right, Brucey?” Jerome laughed.

“…No.” Bruce whispered, looking up at Jerome with confidence. Jerome raised a brow, smiling still on his lips but confusion evident in his eyes.

“You’re the one who will go out every day spreading chaos, killing innocents as part of some twisted game. I will be the one who stops you.” Bruce explained.

“Oh, so Brucey’s gone and grew a set of big ones. Do enlighten me with your little goal.” Jerome said, taking on a position of mock interest.

“I will be the reason criminals like you will breathe easier when the sun rises.” Bruce said defiantly.

A pregnant pause hung in the air as Jerome watched the boy. The red-head looked over to the goons, who just reflected his look of mock surprise. The older boy’s smile grew impossibly wider before he burst out laughing, tears escaping his crazed eyes as he laughed. Bruce looked at him in annoyance as Jerome continued to laugh, asking the raven if he knew how crazy he sounded. Jerome held his stomach as he laughed harder just thinking about the other’s adorable monologue.

“Oh! That was a good one, Bruce! Ah! “I will be the reason criminals breathe easier when the sun rises”! Ha ha! Do you hear this kid, boys? HA! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You’re just too damned adorable. I face like yours is hardly intimidating, Baby Face.” Jerome exclaimed.

The goons took that as their signal to laugh as well, joining in in taunting the younger male. Bruce’s face was a deep red as he blushed in embarrassment. They were seriously laughing at him! How embarrassing. So much for striking fear into the hearts of his captors. Then again, what did he expect? He was only a kid, why would his captors see him of all people see him as a threat? They were all crazy and worked with mad-men. He was probably like a small puppy dog compared to whoever they usually dealt with.

Once Jerome’s laughter died down, he pat the younger on the shoulder, telling him to never stop being adorable and to keep working on that adorable monologue of his. That one day, someone, somewhere would eventually find him intimidating. For now, he was just little orphan Bruce Wayne in the big mean city of Gotham. Jerome went on to tell him about some crazy scheme that he and the rest of the Maniax were going to pursue, but Bruce did not really pay him much mind. Jerome just kept droning on and on while Bruce’s mind wandered farther and farther off once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that was a Batman: Arkham Origins quote.


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce twisted and turned, trying to get out of the iron grasps of his captors as they dragged him down the hallway to some unknown area. He was being moved to another room. Jerome had been called off to “handle some business” and told his goons to take his little friend to bed. Preferably to the room with the iron barred windows. They could not have Bruce trying to throw himself out the window again. What if the cops actually saw him this time? What if they came in and tried to rescue him? Jerome really did not feel like making a mess out of this nice house. Did Bruce even see the marble floor? Who would want to ruin that?

A grunt escaped the boy as he was unceremoniously thrown into the room, door shut tightly behind him. He heard a voice on the other side of the door telling him to get nice and cozy because he was going to be there for a while. The boy billionaire got up on to his feet and ran over to the door, immediately testing the doorknob. It barely moved, indicating that not only was it a solid knob, but it was locked up tight. Bruce slammed a fist against the door with an angry shout. The voices on the other side of the door only laughed at him once more. The brunette turned away from the door to study his new room.

This must have been one of the more unused rooms in the mansion, looking quite simple and plain. It was also a bit dusty, indicating that it was indeed one of the least used rooms. The walls were a dull peach color and bare, not a single picture or painting in sight. There was a hardwood floor under his feet with a plain white shag in the center of the room. The bed was as plain as the rest of the room, covered in plain crème sheets and pillows. Heavy iron bars on the windows killed off any hope of escaping. Underneath of one of the windows stood a dresser with empty drawers. A huff escaped his throat as he flopped backward on to the bed. What was he supposed to do now? Exhaustion swept over him as he dozed off, tears escaping his eyes as he dreamed of Alfred. He missed the butler. What would happen to him? Is he alright? Is Detective Gordon helping him find Bruce? He really wished this didn’t happen. He should have fought harder! Alfred trained him better than this!

A sudden idea came to mind when his eyes fell on the door before him. Hesitantly, he stepped to the door. He experimentally banged on it again, expecting someone to say something on the other side. To his surprise, it was actually quiet. Had the goons left already? The underestimated him so much so to leave him unguarded? He chuckled darkly, of course they did. To them, he was only a kid. A spoiled rich kid with way too much money on his hands. A gigantic burden they had to look after thanks to their no-good boss.

He studied the door before him, pushing on it and tapping at the various spots on the door. Pressing his ear up against the door, he repeated the motion. He had learned this from Alfred during one of his lessons, should he ever find himself captured and stuck in a room. The butler had informed him to listen to weak spots in the door. The weak spot made a different noise than the rest of the door when one banged against it. Said weak spot tended to be nearest the knob. Perhaps above the knob or below. In this case, the weakest spot sounded like it was under the knob. Once one finds it, take a firm stance. Bruce did, standing about a leg’s length away from the door. Bringing his foot up, he laid it flat against the weak point, making sure it was the correct length needed while still able to keep his knee slightly bent.

Using his dominant foot with his other foot firmly planted, he stomped his foot against the door. He could hear the wood beginning to give way with every stomp. A smile crossed Bruce’s lips as confidence swelled within him. He could hear voices coming from down the hall, but that did not stop him. With one last hit, the lock gave way as the door swung open. The heavy door swung into a henchman, knocking him backward in shock and pain. Using the shock of the other henchman against him, Bruce shoved hard against the other man, knocking him out of his way before bolting down the hallway. More voices moved him to navigate through the halls, testing doors and pushing them open if unlocked as he desperately searched for an exit. A familiar cackle caused Bruce’s heart to skip a beat in fear.

“Brucey-babe! C’mon! Don’t play hard to get on me now!” Jerome hollered.

Shit, what was he doing back now? The chuckling bastard said it was an all-day thing, so why was he back now? Where had he even gone off to anyway? He had killed Galavan and that woman whom only Bruce could guess was Galavan’s sister, so who could he possibly be working for? Or who was working for him? Was that woman that was with him before still out there? From what he saw, she had been shot in a pretty nasty spot. The wound alone could have killed her, mainly because Alfred would shoot to kill in order to protect Bruce. The sound of a gunshot behind him forced his legs to move faster. This place was like a hellish labyrinth. Where the hell was the…door! Light bled in from what looked the front door. Finally! An exit.

Bracing his hands forward, Bruce’s fingers just barely brushed the door before the sound of the gun loading stopped him in his tracks. The cold metal barrel pressed against the back of his head, causing him to freeze completely. A chuckle behind him as a gloved hand closed the door for him. Brown eyes looked over at the now bloodied fingers with shock and fear. He heard something dripping on to the marble floor behind him as Jerome pulled him backward, asking the billionaire to not make him shoot him again. Bruce instinctively put his hands up behind his head, showing Jerome that he would not fight him. He was ordered to turn around slowly, to which he obeyed.

Eye turned upward to look at Jerome. The sight before him almost made him vomit.

“I hope you can still look at me when we make love.” Jerome laughed, the skin of his face just barely kept on with staples. Bandages were wrapped around his head, soaked through with blood.

Bruce vomited whatever was left in his stomach on to the marble floor. What the hell had happened to him?!

* * *

How dare that red-headed brat walk into his club, shoot up the place, scaring off his customers and start making demands? Oswald growled as he slammed down his whiskey glass on to the table, shattering it into pieces by accident. Thankfully Mr. Zsasz had taught that circus clown a lesson he would never forget. Internally, apart of Oswald knew he should have alerted Gordon of Valeska’s arrival so they could rescue their billionaire brat, but Oswald was not feeling so generous. He was still mad at the detective for all he had done against him. Why should he help him? What would he get out of helping them?

Victor Zsasz waltzed back into the Iceberg Lounge, the front of his suit, face and arms caked in blood. He had a particularly large knife in hand, wiping it down with a black cloth. Oswald invited the man to sit down across from him to have a drink and a meal on him. That the man deserved such things after the favor he had done for him. Though grateful for the offer, Zsasz turned him down, informing him that he had other assignments from other clients to fulfill. He would gladly accept a change of clothes however, not particularly fond of being stopped by the GCPD in such a state of dress.

“Of course, my good sir. It’s the least I can do for your services. In addition to the pay. Are you sure you don’t want a meal to go? Perhaps a bottle of my finest alcohol?” Oswald asked.

Again, Zsasz rejected, “The clothes and the money is enough. For now. Do give me a call if you require my services again.”

* * *

It took all of Bruce’s self-control not to vomit right there and then again. He was currently sitting on the couch, watching as some doctor for criminals patched Jerome up. Quite literally, in this case. The man was using alcohol swabs to disinfect the bloodier parts of Jerome’s wounds before using a staple gun to staple the flaps of skin back in place. Jerome told his men, and Bruce, that the “penguin bastard” had grown some balls and stuck some other bastard named “Zsasz” on him after the deal went south. By the sounds of it, Jerome waltzed into the place, guns blazing, and shooting things before demanding that Oswald play by his rules or die. Cobblepot’s men got into a shootout with Jerome’s boys, resulting in deaths on both sides. Zsasz had finally gotten a hold of Jerome and carved off his face before sending the red-head running with his tail between his legs.

“Can you believe it? You offer friendship and people spit in your face. So rude!” Jerome said, dramatically throwing his arms into the air for effect.

“Do not move.” The Russian Doctor said, squeezing Jerome’s shoulder in a threatening manner.

“Sorry, Doc! My nerves get the best of me sometimes. And Brucey! You really hurt my feelings! I just wanted to come home and cuddle with my cute little boy toy, and what does he do? Vomit at the sight of my new look. I know it’s bad, but it’s not that bad!” Jerome said in a mock hurt manner.

Bruce stayed silent, looking past Jerome’s head. He could not bring himself to look at the elder for fear of vomiting again. Not that he would throw up anything anymore, he had not eaten for a while. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled, crying out its hunger. He cursed, hoping no one had heard that. Sadly, the universe was not so kind. Jerome laughed at the hunger, telling Bruce that it was pretty messed up that the thought of facial mutilation made him hungry. The brunette blushed, protesting that that did not make him hungry. His stomach just happened to rumble at that exact moment.

Jerome clapped his hands together loudly, startling everyone in the room and causing the doctor to release a sound of annoyance. The red-head gave a half-assed apology before saying that he could use a bite to eat as well. Maybe this dish would not be as crappy as the last. Bruce shuddered, remembering that horrid platter with the maid’s severed head. Oh, he was going to vomit again!

“As long as it’s not a head on a silver platter again…” Bruce said under his breath.

Jerome laughed once more, “No! Not this time, Bruce! But I’m a bit disappointed that you didn’t enjoy that dish. How about Pizza? I could really go for a Piece-a Pizza! Oops! Sorry, about that cheesy joke!” Jerome chuckled to himself.

The henchmen laughed, afraid of being shot. Bruce did not laugh. Nothing about this man was funny nor should anyone give him any type of encouragement of any kind. Once the doctor was done with him, Jerome wrapped an arm around Bruce’s shoulders and asked him about preferences for pizza. Bruce simply said he did not care. With an “okie-dokie” Jerome ordered one of his henchmen to order one of everything and that dinner was on the late Theo Galavan and his many credit cards.

“And if the delivery boy wants a tip, tell him that it isn’t wise to make demands!” Jerome hollered.

‘Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?’ Bruce thought with a roll of his eyes.

* * *

One of the henchmen stepped outside for a smoke break, lifting his clown mask up over his nose while he was at it. His companion came out with him, just to get away from the clownish teen. They spoke about sports, not daring to talk badly about the psycho upstairs for fear of him listening nearby. Or for one of their own to turn on them before turning them in. If the pay-off wasn’t so high, they probably would have jumped ship by now.

“What the hell are we doing with that Bruce Wayne anyway? Shouldn’t he be dead by now?” Henchman 1 asked.

His companion shrugged, “I don’t even know man. I think the boss has some kind of infatuation with him. Maybe ransom? Get some money out of his butler and the GCPD before killing him off?”

“He better hurry the hell up and figure it out before someone wises up and comes after all of us. I ain’t going back to Blackgate, man!” Henchman 1 said, snuffing out his cigarette.

“Relax! The boss knows what he’s doing! The only thing we gotta worry about is what time does the pizza get here? Besides, we’re hiding in plain sight. Who knows we’re here?”

Little did they know, a pair of green eyes watched from her post in an alleyway not too far away, eavesdropping in on their conversation. So, that’s where Bruce had disappeared to. She had also heard that Jerome had made a trip to Penguin’s club and that Gordon had spoken with Oswald before that, looking for Bruce. Now that she knew where both Bruce and Jerome were located, she would let Gordon know. Usually, she would not care and mind her own business, but she really did not want to see Bruce get hurt. After the henchmen had retreated back inside, Selina had sauntered off towards the GCPD.

“Hold on, Bruce.” She said under her breath.


End file.
